


Thomas was Alone

by Faiz



Series: Ghosts 'n Stuff [3]
Category: Daft Punk, The Strokes
Genre: Gen, The Strokes are only sort of in this, but they're still in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:37:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1466263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faiz/pseuds/Faiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas trying to deal with his death, and meeting other ghosts for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thomas was Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Monodes](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Monodes).



> Not as good as the other ones, my bad >_

His days after dying became monotonous quickly. He stayed in his room and moped, trying to ignore the sounds of his parents moving around the house on the other side of his door. No matter how desperately he wanted to see the warm loving gazes of his maman and papa, he didn’t deserve to see them. He was the eternal shame of his family and didn’t deserve to see their faces. He was almost shocked that they hadn’t torn down his room. Everything was left completely alone, including himself.

The days turned into weeks, month, and then years. Still everything was the same, until one day when it had all suddenly changed. His maman and papa went into his room. He had quickly hid in the closet, nearly getting stuck through the door in the process. He watched as they carefully dusted off all his belongings and packed them away into boxes and suitcases. His maman’s eyes were shining with tears as she put away his childhood toys.

“Sometimes I still feel he is going to walk in through the door and smile his bright smile at us.” She whispered.

He put an arm around her waist. “It has been years. We must continue living on for our boy.”

“But to leave?” She let out a sob. “It feels like we are abandoning our boy.”

“We must go. We cannot let our hearts dwell in darkness. Thomas was so bright, and he wouldn’t want anyone to stay in the dark.”

For the first time in years, Thomas left his room. He left to watch his parents, and all the familiar things in his life drive away in moving trucks. Pain welled again in his chest, but he endured. It was God’s punishment, for sure. To strip him of all that comforted him, to teach him that he shouldn’t have taken his life for granted as he so foolishly did. Maybe that was why he was a ghost. He had to be put through all this pain before God could even allow him to consider moving on. 

So he stayed floating there at the end of their yard watching his parents leave his life. 

When he finally went back to his house after the sun had set and the moon had taken its place in the dark sky, he looked around at the bare-boned house shrouded in shadows. There were few things left now. Furniture that they couldn’t or didn’t want to take with them. Some paintings still hung in the foyer. Small things that would pile on the pain in his chest and make it almost unbearable. So he did what he always did and floated back into his room and sat down where his bed used to be. He made circles with his semi-transparent finger on the hardwood floor, occasionally phasing his finger through it.

He panicked when it got stuck and pulled on it whimpering pathetically. “Non….”

When he finally got his finger free he made sure to float a good few centimeters off the floor so he wouldn’t be touching anything. He wanted to see his parents’ faces again. Just that simple little taste of seeing them again had thrown him right out of whack and suddenly his emotions were all over the place like the day he died. 

His life went on in monotony again after that. There was nothing for him to do in the house besides float around aimlessly trying to not bring up memories from when he was alive. But sometimes he couldn’t help but see himself with his family in memories. He was crushed to see that his parents had even taken his piano with them. So there was nearly nothing left, to the point where he even clung onto the pointless things that they had left. And it started to get even worse the first time people had started entering the house trying to buy it.

He had to admit that he always tried to chase them off at first, thinking that it was a fitting punishment that he stayed alone in this house to keep himself as miserable as possible. So then maybe God will see how much he has suffered so he could be allowed to move on. But nothing happened, and he continued to be alone. He took slight comfort in the lady who was the realtor, because she at least seemed to be one constant, even if she never saw him.

Thomas had been sitting alone on the stairs when a band of kids he didn’t recognize had suddenly crashed the door open. He panicked and quickly flitted up the stairs and hid behind the corner looking down at them. They had to be no older than twelve, and they were looking around curiously and knocking things over. That made Thomas angry. What were they even doing? They most definitely weren’t old enough to buy a house, and Ms. Realtor wasn’t with them. They were loud and obnoxious, and Thomas very much wanted them to leave.

“Come on, I heard there were tons of ghosts here. No one ever stays and lives here long enough because I heard the ghosts try to eat them!”

Eat them? That’s disgusting.

Thomas made a face at that. He could only assume the ‘ghosts’ meant him. He definitely wasn’t a plural though, nor did he ever try to eat someone. He couldn’t eat anything at all. All he did was knock things over and make sounds to scare people away. No one could ever see him, so there was no point in trying to even look intimidating either. 

He hadn’t noticed he was floating vaguely to the side until he heard a shriek of terror. When he snapped back into it he saw the one of the kids screaming and pointing at him.

“It’s the ghost! Oh my god it’s the ghost!” 

The other kids were looking around in confusion and terror when the one who had seen Thomas booked it out of there as quickly as he could. Thomas himself panicked and went back to his room. How could that kid have seen him? No one had ever seen him before...Not anyone.

That may have been a lie. Because it was not the last time someone saw him. He couldn’t exactly figure out the mechanics of it. It just seemed as though some people could see him and others couldn’t. He knew that Ms. Realtor definitely couldn’t, because he had tested it out by floating near her and getting in her face about it. But she never did anything. She never reacted. He wished he had someone to share this with, to see if someone else had any more answers to this.

But Thomas was alone, fending for himself in his old home.

He was shocked when he met other ghosts for the first time. 

It had started normally enough of course, people had snuck into his home. None of them could see him, he had checked. He had weaved in between all of them and none of them reacted besides a slight shiver here or there. They were dressed very strangely. The times were passing quickly for Thomas, and the clothing style definitely wasn’t what it used to be. He always figured it when the Realtor lady was constantly wearing pants instead of a dress. But these men looked like they never showered at all. 

It was chance that he had glanced out of the door that they had left open and he had seen a glow coming from their van that they had pulled up in. They didn’t do a very good job of it either, the van was quite literally in the middle of his front yard, and had ruined the grass. But he was more interested in the glowing, and without helping himself he floated out towards the van.

This was the first time he’d ever gone into something that wasn’t his own home.

He phased through it with little trouble, which was pretty exciting for him, but as soon as he was in the van he wasn’t sure what to do. On the seats there were what looked like little balls of blue flame hovering above the seats, flickering in an unearthly glow. Thomas didn’t move, and he hesitated to talk because he didn’t know if...Whatever that was would even talk to him. 

He was spared from wondering when the small flame closest to him suddenly dispersed on the seat and slowly formed into a ghost just like himself, curled up on the seat rolling a microphone between his fingers. He looked up at Thomas was some confusion in his baggy tired eyes. He turned to slowly look at this fellow balls of flame and they slowly turned into other ghosts as well. Two with guitars, one with a bass, and the last one spinning a drumstick in his hand. The first one with the microphone looked back at him, and his hair shook from the soundless decorations that were on one side of his hair.

“Who...are...you?” He asked with a slow drawl. 

“I’m...I’m Thomas. Who are you?”

“We...haven’t seen other ghosts.” The microphone said, not answering Thomas’s question. “You live here?” He made a vague gesture to the house. 

Thomas nodded. “I died a while ago. In the 50s…And who are you, again?”

“Oh…” He seemed to realize Thomas asked a question. “Julian...We died in the 90s.” He motioned to his friends. “We...crashed. All dead.”

“The cars got fixed but we didn’t.” One with curly hair and a guitar piped up in a very depressed tone. “But we stayed.”

“Maybe there’s no point though.” The other guitarist with long hair mumbled, strumming the guitar in his hands and producing no sound. “We can’t play anymore, Fab. Why are we still here?”

“Because we can’t leave.” The bassist moaned and clutched his guitar. “We can’t ever leave. And now we can’t even make music…”

“The Strokes are over and done with for all eternity…” The drummer droned, flicking his drumstick in the air and catching it.

Thomas couldn’t believe what he was feeling. Pity. He felt pity for this band sitting in here, clinging to their instruments. They were so sad, so lifeless (although they were ghosts). They truly were empty shells who were going to stay in this van for all eternity, even after it had broken down and began to rust away. They would stay there in those seats until the end of time, and even after that. 

It made him suddenly fear that he’d been looking exactly like they did now. They had been dead for a much shorter time than he was, and Thomas could remember how it felt trying to deal with it. But he didn’t want to look like them. The deep sadness in their eyes was barely bearable even for him, and maybe that’s why the people who truly did see him got so terrified. To them, he was a dark, depressing ghost.

Instead of leaving though, he stayed. He thought he should for some strange reason. While the live band was inside looking for ghosts, he could stay and give these guys company. It was difficult, because they didn’t seem to respond very well to someone speaking to them, but he could see little shimmers of their personalities trying to shine through every once and awhile, but they’d be quickly snuffed by more sadness.

“Stay strong.” Thomas whispered when it was finally time for them to leave.

The band had stumbled out of the house all mumbling and complaining about a ripoff house. Thomas could see Julian look up at him and nod slightly to confirm that he had heard him before Thomas allowed the van to drive straight through him and down the street. He stayed floating on the lawn for a long while, wondering what he should be doing now. He didn’t want to be sad anymore, he didn’t want to seem like them. So perhaps he could find someone. Someone who bought his house that could see him and understand him. Then maybe he could become friends with someone, so he wouldn’t feel so alone.

And then he wondered about that band. The Strokes. He never saw them again. He could only ever wonder what happened to them.


End file.
